


you're bound to lose control

by edfh26



Series: how soft your fields, so green [1]
Category: Black Panther (2018), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Fix-It, Getting Together, Goats, M/M, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), hahaha it hurts so bad, link to Chinese translation in notes, sassmaster bucky, spoilers for avengers infinity war, this is so self indulgent lmao, you choose because i cannot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 04:02:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14608866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edfh26/pseuds/edfh26
Summary: Groot, who wanders in after a few minutes with Shuri and T’Challa, breaks off his finger and tucks it into Steve’s hair, petting his head, which probably means something. Bucky has no idea.“I am Groot,” he says solemnly.“Thank you,” Steve replies.





	you're bound to lose control

**Author's Note:**

> Rated M for language and a non explicit sex scene.
> 
> Title from "Rubberband Man" because it's 11 pm and I had an ap test today and I have one tomorrow and I don't have any creativity left.
> 
> Update: Chinese translation by AliceAmy at http://www.lofter.com/lpost/1d5aa59c_12cf8665
> 
> Update update: all ap exams are dooooone

It’s chaos. There’s talking raccoon, a Norse god, and a rage monster with performance issues, and Bucky just wants to stay afloat and get out of this mess so he can go back to his goats. 

 

He’s so tired of this  _ bullshit _ . A stupid ass grape and his demonic adopted children with their army of space lizards, with teeth that are longer than his knife. Honestly, it’s almost enough to make a guy miss the days where all he had to do was shoot the foreign dignitaries whom Russia thought needed to be shot. That wasn’t noble, sure, but it sure as hell wasn’t this postmodern science fiction monstrosity of a day.

 

And then, suddenly, something in the air changes and  _ look _ , the genocidal eggplant has decided to make an appearance. Bucky gets knocked to the ground like he’s a rag doll, which isn’t good for the ego, and then Steve pulls some move where he  _ catches  _ the goddamn  _ gauntlet  _ like a suicidal idiot. He gets punched in the head for his troubles. Bucky’s focused on the incremental rise and fall of Steve’s chest, so he misses Thor’s godly grand jetè of righteous fury.

 

Steve’s eyes flutter and catch Bucky’s moments before the world goes silent. Thor is yelling, Steve is pushing himself up, and Bucky’s barely managed to stagger to his feet before something starts feeling wrong.

 

“Steve?” he asks, reaching, and everything goes dark.

 

xxxx

 

Just as simply, the world rushes back. The bizarre feeling of being put back together from a billion tiny pieces is neither pleasant nor unfamiliar. The world is dark, and for a moment Bucky thinks maybe he’s blind, before he makes out the looming and familiar shapes of the Wakandan jungle. It’s only night, then; the place that was once a battlefield is silent. 

 

Bucky knows what it’s like to wake up and realize that too much time has passed. Every year he’s been reawakened the air tastes just a little different, smells a little strange. It’s the sort of thing you don’t notice when you go to sleep and wake up eight hours later. 

 

Too much time has passed.

 

Just across the clearing, Wanda reappears in a swirl of ashes. Bucky thinks she’s just teleported, since that’s the sort of thing magical people seem to do, but her fingers are clasped around something that isn’t there and she lets out a guttural sound, pure grief, that tells him otherwise. He rushes over.

 

“Get up,” Bucky whispers. “It may not be safe here.” 

 

“Barnes,” she chokes, almost a whimper. He’s still not good with emotions, but he tries to be gentle as he pulls her to her feet. 

 

He keeps his flesh hand wrapped around her bicep as he walks toward the plains where the battle was fiercest. He nearly trips over Sam, who doesn’t even try and give him shit for it. It’s a sign of the times.

 

“What the hell,” Sam is muttering to himself, as he uses Bucky’s metal wrist to pull himself up. “I saw you turn to ash.”

 

“It’s been too long,” Bucky whispers, and sees Sam’s tired nod of agreement. His hand is dirty and bleeding a little, from a fight long ago. He’s limping.

 

Something has steeled in Wanda, as she kneels and presses her hands to Sam’s leg with a fierce expression. He lets out a heavy sigh of relief and wraps an arm around her waist.

 

“What has happened?” asks a voice, suddenly, and Wanda’s hands flare red while Sam and Bucky reach for weapons that are not there. T’Challa steps out of some bushes, and then,  _ okay, _ a walking tree with eyes. Bucky isn’t sure how he missed that one.

 

“I am Groot,” the tree says. Bucky blinks, and decides to move past it.

 

T’Challa is looking at the sky, dark eyes glinting in the moonlight. “It is summer,” he says. 

 

“Which summer?” Bucky asks, afraid. 

 

“That’s a question,” Sam says.

 

T’Challa walks out of the jungle, and towards where the barrier would begin. Sure enough, it holds when touched. Bucky sees T’Challa’s shoulders drop a little in relief. If the barrier is up, Wakanda still exists well enough to maintain it. 

 

“There’s only one thing to do, your majesty,” Bucky says. 

 

“I am no longer the King,” says T’Challa, stepping away from the barrier.

 

xxxx

 

“Where were we?” Wanda asks, as they make their slow way to the place where the border tribe should be, this time of year. It will take them two days to walk, traveling at night.

 

“Elsewhere,” says T’Challa. It’s not an answer, but it’s accurate. 

 

“Other people have got to be coming back,” Sam says. “Thanos wanted to kill half of the universe, not just us.” 

 

“We don’t know why we’re back,” Bucky points out. “It could be just us.”

 

“We all know that Steve wouldn’t just bring us back,” Wanda says.

 

“I am Groot,” Groot says. Bucky thinks he agrees, which means that apparently Steve had found the time to convince a tree to believe in his unflappable morals. Bucky isn’t surprised.

 

A Wakandan patrol jet sweeps overhead, then loops back to them.  T’Challa freezes and looks to Bucky, who shrugs. Sam’s leg is starting to give out again. They can’t run, and it’s unlikely they’ll face any hostility that can’t be handled.

 

The jet lowers to a hover and a guardsman slides out, spear in hand. He’s about to open his mouth when T’Challa steps into the light, in full Black Panther regalia, hands folded neatly behind his back. The poor kid looks about ready to wet himself, and Bucky would feel for him on any other day, but this isn’t any other day. He doesn’t even know the fucking date. 

 

“What year is it?” Wanda asks, which is much more polite than what Bucky was going to say.

 

The guard looks from T’Challa to Bucky to Wanda. “2019,” he says, like he’s fairly sure he’s hallucinating.

 

“A year and a half ain’t so bad,” Bucky says absently. Sam gives him a familiar look of  _ what the fuck, man _ . 

 

“I will just—“ the guard says and mutters something into his kimoyo beads. Almost immediately, the form of a Dora Milaje appears. They talk quickly enough in Xhosa that Bucky can’t follow, but T’Challa smirks, just a little. 

 

“I am to bring you to the palace,” the guard says.

 

“Thank you,” T’Challa says, and steps into the plane. The rest of them follow. “What is your name?” he says to the guard.

 

“I am Viwe,” the guard says, and bows his head to T’Challa. “We had thought you would not return,” he says cautiously as the plane lifts off. “The rest of the population was restored three months ago.”

 

“Why?” Sam says. “Why are we only here now?”

 

“I don’t know,” Viwe says. “I have only been back for these three months myself.”

 

T’Challa nods, understanding. 

 

They pass the ride in silence. Wanda is a palpable storm of grief leaning against Sam, and Bucky is about three seconds away from falling dead asleep. Thanos could’ve at least have had the dignity to leave them well rested but  _ no _ . Instead it’s like he’s just walked off the battlefield. 

 

In a strange parody of events, they exit the plane at the same place Steve and his crew had, a day and a year ago. This time, it is dark and quiet, and Shuri is standing in her pajamas with Okoye at her side. There is a dainty necklace around Shuri’s collar, but it is unmistakable as anything but Panther claws. She has filled out, with lean muscles and a coolness of demeanor she hadn’t had last he saw her. 

 

T’Challa notices as well, because his eyes go sad then proud before he breaks into a dead sprint across the runway. Okoye and Shuri rush to meet him, and it’s all very touching. Bucky might shed a tear, but it’s okay because Sam totally does. Groot sprouts a flower in his palm.

 

T’Challa gets to his knees and kisses Shuri’s hand and she smacks him across the head. It has to hurt, because, Black Panther, but T’Challa looks like someone just told him he’d won the lottery. Okoye looks like she can’t decide if she wants to kick his ass or hug him. 

 

“We have Stark on the phone,” Shuri is saying as the rest of the group approaches. “He and Nebula and Rocket are going to Titan, to go see if anyone is back there.”

 

“I am GROOT,” Groot says forcefully. 

 

“They won’t be gone long. Thor is taking them via Bifrost,” Shuri says soothingly.

 

“Does everyone understand him but me?” Sam asks Bucky in a murmur. 

 

“Yes,” Bucky says, lying.

 

“You are so full of shit.”

 

“You’ll never know for sure, though.”

 

“Captain Rogers is on his way from Thailand,” Shuri says, interrupting. “The flight should take about two hours, so I imagine he will be here in one.”

 

“Tell him not to crash, for me,” Bucky says. Shuri smirks. “You may tell him yourself,” she says.

 

“Lead the way,” Bucky replies. Sam nearly fall flat on his face trying to follow, so Bucky takes pity on him and wraps an arm around his waist so they can limp after Shuri. It’s been cleared out, or maybe it’s just 3 in the morning, but regardless the room is nearly empty. 

 

Waiting for the secure connection to patch in is terrifying. It feels like going in to cryo and not knowing if he’ll ever come out, or like when he used to send letters from the front and pray that Steve would get them. It’s been hours for Bucky and a year for Steve, and Bucky doesn’t know what to expect.

 

He doesn’t have that much time for worrying, however. Steve pops up on the screen a moment later, and he looks— ragged, more so than last time Bucky saw him. But he’s breathing, and alive, and all Bucky can do is stare, for a moment. Steve doesn’t say anything either, doesn’t seem to be able to. His eyes roam rapidly over Bucky, and then Sam, who gives a little sarcastic wave.

 

“I uh—“ Bucky starts, then coughs. “Just don’t crash the plane.”

 

“Buck—“

 

“I’m okay, promise, if you crash the goddamn plane, Rogers, I swear to God—“

 

“I’m not flying it, Nat is,” Steve breathes, and then: “She won’t let me.”

 

“Good,” Sam says.

 

“Just come back,” Bucky says.  Steve gives him one last desperate, vaguely hungry look before signing away.

 

xxxx

 

Sam, accompanied by Wanda, heads to medical to get his leg checked out. Shuri shows Groot how to make contact with Rocket the talking raccoon, an interaction that involves copious swearing, crying, and flower sprouting on all parts. Those lost to the snap on Titan have apparently been recovered. The raccoon is very emotional.

 

Bucky takes a shower. Life is too goddamn weird for him to process much else besides his dirty hair. Bucky doesn’t usually care but he doesn’t like it to be greasy when Steve is around. 

 

He fumbles with the catch under his arm to remove the prosthetic before he gets in the shower, even though Shuri’s assured him it’s completely waterproof. Bucky likes being able to remove the arm; he likes having the choice.

 

He chooses not to put it back on when he dresses. People don’t seem to understand why he would rather go without, and that’s okay with him. The whole complicated story would take too long to feasibly explain, anyhow. Bucky finds a soft black sweatshirt and pants have been left for him and pulls them on. He’s about to leave for the landing pad when the door of the suite he’s been taken to bursts open. 

 

Steve stands there, in all of his disheveled and slightly singed glory, breathing heavily and looking like he might pass out. His eyes are wide and a little bloodshot, and his damn uniform is ripped and stained with blood at the midriff. 

 

“Did you get shot?” Bucky asks, disbelieving. 

 

“Buck,” Steve whispers, ignoring the question. He snaps his mouth shut, like maybe if he breathes too hard on Bucky he’ll disintegrate again.

 

Bucky moves, telegraphing his movements as he crosses the room. Steve seems about a second away from bolting, or maybe hyperventilating, but stays put, letting Bucky stand right in his space. Bucky presses his fingers to the skin beneath the tear in Steve’s suit; the skin is new and fragile but unbroken. Steve still doesn’t move, but a few tears fall from his eyes. A few seconds later he brushes them away angrily.

 

Bucky takes one of Steve’s gloved hands and presses it to his chest, and just like that, Steve is off, pressing shaking fingers to Bucky’s face, his chest, his arm. Steve’s hand runs around the port where the prosthetic connects, then under his sweatshirt, ghosting along his abdomen. There’s a moment before Bucky thinks  _ well, fuck it _ , and presses his lips to the corner of Steve’s mouth. Steve turns his head to catch Bucky’s lips, twisting his fingers in Bucky’s sweatshirt. He tastes like salt and copper, but strangely familiar, like home. It’s not like a first kiss, and maybe it’s not, in any way that matters.

 

“Sam is gonna want to see you,” Bucky pants, pulling away for breath. Steve chases him, but Bucky turns his head and presses a kiss on his jaw. “And Wanda, and T’Challa, and the tree.”

 

“The tree’s name is Groot,” Steve mutters, pressing his forehead to Bucky’s. Bucky shakes his head, smiling. “You should go see them,” he finishes.

 

“Just a second,” Steve says. Bucky’s a little worried he might actually pass out. Steve’s pulse is fluttering worryingly fast under his hand, rather than beating at the ridiculously slow pace of a half dead horse, like usual. 

 

“C’mon, Rogers,” Bucky says, and tugs at the strap on Steve’s shoulder. Steve lets himself be pulled on to the bed by a one-armed hundred year old man, which is charming; he goes down hard, which is less so, considering Bucky almost gets crushed. He shifts so they’re side by side.

 

“Hey,” Steve says, cracking a smile for the first time. It looks painful, faintly incredulous, and not particularly happy. Bucky can’t say it’s a bad look, because nothing Steve could ever do could be a bad look, but it does hurt his heart. 

 

“Hey,” Bucky says instead, because he’s not good with Steve’s emotions either. 

 

“We killed him,” Steve says, eyes half-lidded. “Danvers used the stones to bring everyone back but you didn’t come. We thought—Wong said that maybe Thanos held special contempt for those who fought him directly, or something. It didn’t matter. You were gone regardless.”

 

“I’m here now,” Bucky says, even though he understood about half of what Steve just said. He’ll get the full story later.

 

“You sure?” Steve asks. There’s something cynical in his eyes. “I’m not.”

 

“Punk, you look like you haven’t slept in a year, so what do you know,” Bucky snarks.

 

“Jerk,” Steve says, then props himself up on one hand to lean over and kiss Bucky. It’s soft and chaste and lovely, and Bucky would love to continue but somehow he’s become the emotionally stable one in this relationship. They’re both wanted elsewhere. 

 

“Sam’s getting checked up on in medical,” he whispers. Steve makes a choked up noise of frustration; Bucky bats at his chest. “We’ll go do hugs and shit, sleep for no less than twelve hours, and then we can suck face as much as you want.”

 

Steve, unsurprisingly, protests right up until he catches sight of Sam, at which point there’s a lot of hugging, crying, and well-meant but vicious insults. Bucky hangs back and awkwardly shakes Natasha’s hand before she pulls him into a hug. They haven’t talked much since the nineties, a fact which leaves Bucky uncomfortable and Natasha amused.

 

Wanda buries her face into Steve’s chest when she hugs him. Groot, who wanders in after a few minutes with Shuri and T’Challa, breaks off his finger and tucks it into Steve’s hair, petting his head, which probably means something. Bucky has no idea.

 

“I am Groot,” he says solemnly.

 

“Thank you,” Steve replies.

 

In the end, after everyone has reacquainted themselves, Steve gets bullied into a check up—son of a bitch did get shot—by Bucky, Sam, Natasha, Wanda, Shuri, and ostensibly Groot. Even T’Challa has a quelling look when Steve tries to squirm away from the doctors. He’s pronounced with a clean bill of health, barring slight malnutrition and severe exhaustion. The doctors make Steve down two protein shakes and send him off to bed. Bucky wonders about his hut and his goats, but he agrees to stay at the palace for the night.

 

Bucky thinks Steve will pass out the second the lights shut off, but instead he goes tense. Bucky’s exhausted himself, and can barely keep himself awake as he shuffles over to get close to Steve. He absently brings his hand up to card through Steve’s hair, half asleep. The strands are long and a little wet from a shower. They feel nice between his fingers.

 

Little by little, Steve’s shoulders relax, then his fists loosen, and he sighs, shifting until they’re pressed together from chest to toe. Bucky throws a leg over Steve’s and it feels right, like home.

 

“I think we’re too old for this,” Steve says. 

 

“Nah, better late than never,” Bucky murmurs.

 

“I mean for… Cap. The Avengers. I think I’m compromised.”

 

“Do you wanna retire?” Bucky asks, blinking awake.

 

“Not all the way,” Steve says. “I couldn’t just watch, if there was another invasion.”

 

“Retired, barring aliens?” 

 

“Sure,” Steve huffs. “Clint, a few years ago, said ‘I’m 42, that’s too old for shooting people who can be shot by someone else.’”

 

“Stark’s older than you are,” Bucky says. “You’re 35. Biologically.”

 

“I’m not Tony,” Steve says. “No one else is Tony.”

 

“I’m tired,” Bucky agrees. “We’ll figure something out.” 

 

“Yay,” Steve whispers, sounding terrified by the prospect.

  
Bucky reaches up and kisses Steve on the cheek, then nose, then forehead. He lingers on his lips just long enough for Steve to reciprocate before moving down to his neck. Bucky digs his fingers into Steve’s scalp as he bites gently at the column of his throat; they’re both going to have beard burn, even if it heals in minutes.   
  
“We could go anywhere,” Bucky breathes in Steve’s ear a few minutes later. Steve is breathing heavily but not panting, wide awake.  Bucky is apparently also bad at following medical orders.    
  
“We could go to Paris,” he says. “Or Canada. We could go home, get a dog. Get you some fake glasses and buy some pretentious apartment in Brooklyn. We could go everywhere. We could stay here in that little hut.”   
  
“Anywhere,” Steve murmurs, benediction and promise. “We can start with here.”   
  
Bucky grins and presses it into Steve’s T-shirt. He works a hand underneath, scratching blunt nails over the planes of Steve’s chest. Steve arches and gasps, then crushes their mouths together. It’s a different kind of desperation this time, not frantic but bruising. Like a seal, reading this one is mine. Steve finds spots Bucky didn’t even know could make him gasp and moan but do, and Bucky grabs a handful of Steve’s hair and holds on for dear life.    
  
Neither of them are particularly experienced but it doesn’t seem to matter. It’s like coming home; Bucky is Steve and Steve is Bucky and there’s nothing left, not anymore. No dirt or ash, no blood. Only this room and this bed, this country and this Earth. No ice. They simply are and are each other's and that’s what matters.   
  
After, they lie tangled in the sheets and they sleep deeply, two old soldiers, finally home from the war.

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to my friend who told me to send all this fix-it fic I write. Also shoutout to ap classes for killing all of my ambition am I right.
> 
> I've seen the movie three times and its wild. I actually care about Gamora now which is great because she is totally not dead. Also I called the red skull thing years ago so thankyouverymuch. 
> 
> Come yell about fan theories with me on tumblr @equal-and-opposite-reactions
> 
> Update 6/14/18: for those of you wondering what Groot says in the passage I used in the summary:
> 
> “You fuck shit up. I respect that,” he (Groot) says solemnly.
> 
> “Thank you,” Steve replies.


End file.
